


Drawing Closer

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Hubert does not join clubs. Even if he meets for extracurricular horror storytelling that gets derailed.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	Drawing Closer

**Author's Note:**

> I just want the dining hall to be an informal sleepover space for people who might not always cross paths.

_Fog rolls into the graveyard. It must smother all sound, as the sniper chokes on their attempt to scream. The only break in the silence is a rattle of bones drawing closer._

“Please, no more!”

Hubert stops reading. Mercedes murmurs a chant, filling their corner of the dining hall with light.

“See, Bernie, it’s all right. It’s only us here,” she says.

With more than a candelabra illuminating their place on the floor, their setup of old tomes and carnivorous plants hardly makes up for the tea cabinet. Mercedes already ruled against skulls with Bernadetta there.

“I do wish you would stop interrupting the ambiance,” Hubert says.

“Ghost stories are only fun if we remember to take care of ourselves,” Mercedes says. Bernadetta swivels to take stock of the room’s corners, and Hubert bites his tongue.

Before coming to the academy, he hadn’t imagined doing anything that would not help Lady Edelgard. But when an attempt to intimidate Mercedes fell so flat she turned it around on him, they formed an arrangement to share ghost stories. Not a _club_ —Hubert does not join clubs—even if Bernadetta volunteered her own horror story for the evening.

It is a worthy contribution. Her mind is as dark a place as any he occupies. Apparently, she agrees; even though she penned the tale, she keeps burying her face in Hubert’s arm, as if it is separate from the voice making her whimper.

It is not as if he wants to foist his demonic chuckles on her. Reading her own work out loud made her shy, and Mercedes’ rendition was as terrifying as Hubert’s—perhaps more, he notes with admiration. It almost makes him invite her to go grave digging for real. Almost.

After all, he admires it even more that she would say _no_.

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Bernadetta says.

“Lights back off?” Mercedes asks, and Bernadetta nods. Again, they’re plunged into their little makeshift realm, the candelabra sneaking shadows across their faces. Hubert has just continued reading when footsteps approach.

“Skeletons!” Bernadetta shrieks. She ducks behind Hubert, who sits obligingly still.

“Oh, hello,” Mercedes calls out. Dorothea, Ferdinand, and Annette light the doorway like a trio of fireflies, trying to make sense of the rats infesting their intended club space.

“I told you we were going to sing here, Mercie,” Annette says.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I must have mixed up the days.”

“It is not like you to make such a mistake, Hubert.” Ferdinand arches a brow, which Hubert mirrors.

“Bold of you to assume I am not aware of everything going on in this monastery at all times.”

“Well, I didn’t know!” Bernadetta says. “Sorry, we’ll get out of your way.”

“Don’t worry about it, Bern, you got here first. We can find someplace else to sing,” Dorothea says. She tugs Ferdinand by the collar, and Hubert smirks as they leave.

“Where were we?” he says.

“Actually, um, I think I need to leave,” Bernadetta says, poking her head around Hubert’s elbow. “I’m sorry.”

Mercedes gathers up her tomes. “It’s all right. We’ll all be better organized next time. Thank you for sharing your story, Bernadetta.”

“Yes, it was most engrossing,” Hubert says.

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome,” Bernadetta says. She hangs at the edge of his space while he snuffs out his candelabra, and he does not rush off to his duties. “Um, Hubert?”

“Yes?”

“I have to return these plants to the greenhouse, but it’s really dark out.”

“I can return them, if you wish.”

“No, I can do it! It’s just, what if… skeletons?”

It is uncanny how much more articulate her writing is. “Very well. If you can stand my company for a little while longer, I shall accompany you, and if any skeletons appear, I shall dismantle them.” He resists the urge to cackle.

She weighs potential threats, as she must each day, but she agrees. With that settled, Mercedes drifts off like a ghost into the night.

Unfortunately, Hubert expects no reanimated skeletons to emerge in the chill air by the pond. More sinister things always lurk in the shadows, however, and he remains poised to protect Bernadetta on their way to the greenhouse. It’s easier with her willing to walk beside him; when daylight purges other devils, she stays away.

Her whisper startles him as much as any shout. “Hubert? Did you really like my story?”

“I did. The suspense and atmosphere were genre appropriate, as were the themes. Isolation, forced silence, an unknown enemy…”

“Yeah! Scary stuff, huh?” Her false laughter draws his eye. She hugs the pots in her arms, the plants’ mouths yawning below her chin. “I, um, wrote it for you.”

He halts in front of the greenhouse. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, so, I’m glad you liked it. You can keep it. Or burn it if you want, just please don’t share it. I’ll take care of the plants, bye!”

She ducks inside with a wheeze, leaving him more nonplussed than any twist of horror could have. He can’t process her motives on his detour to ensure no fiends, skeletons or otherwise, hide along the path to her door.


End file.
